Freaks
“This place is the pits.” Wilkie’s eyes traveled over the two-story, brick structure of the abandoned high school. With its dark, encompassing windows and walls running riot with ivy, the place seemed more like some fiendish lair than the simple ruins of a school. A chill shivered down her spine, despite the scorching mid-summer rays beating over her. “The pits is right.” Her cousin, Almira, stuffed her hands into the pockets of her denim overalls and leaned into the bumper of the pickup truck. “Something about it gives me the creeps.” She bit her pinky nail and gazed at the building. “Which is why our viewers are going to love this one,” their friend, Jo, remarked as she scooted out of the driver’s seat. “Our 3ChumpsExploring video channel reached twelve thousand subscribers last night, with our most popular video being of the old Studebaker factory filmed earlier this year in South Bend. Now that place was creepy. Remember the nest of copperheads in the broken toilet?” She slammed the door shut behind her. “Phew-ee is it hot!” Jo shielded her eyes with one hand and gave the school a quick glance over. Wilkie slung her Nikon across her shoulder and adjusted the settings on her lens. “How’d you even find out about this place anyway?” She raised the viewfinder to her eye and snapped a couple photos of the school. “Someone mentioned it in the comment section of one of our videos,” Jo said. “I can’t remember which one.” She picked up a discarded bottle cap and twirled it around in her fingers. “They said we should check it out, and that it might be of some interest to us.” “Well, what are we waiting around for, then?” said Wilkie. “Let’s go inside.” Jo tossed aside the cap and pulled the camcorder from the truck. She turned it on. “This week the Three Chumps are exploring the abandoned Tippecanoe High School here in middle-of-nowhere Indiana,” she narrated. “I can’t say we know much about this school, except that it closed its doors not long after the disappearance of three students.” Wilkie glanced up from her camera. “Whoa, seriously?” “Seriously. Three seniors went missing some time in June of 1962—on prom night, actually, at this very location.” Almira cast a wary glance at the building. “Yikes. I wonder what happened.” “It was speculated they ran away, as no trace of them was ever found. Well, that’s what I read, anyway,” replied Jo. They climbed the matted steps and paused just outside the double doors. Wilkie snapped a couple photos of some age-worn print-outs still barely clinging to the glass surface from the inside. The first was a schedule of administration days and hours; the second an announcement for a school play: Tippecanoe High School Presents Beowulf In the THS Auditorium May 26 & 27 1962, 7:30 p.m. Jo reached out and tugged on the handle until the heavy door creaked open. A stream of pale, dusty light sifted through the broken windows in the lobby. Offensive graffiti blemished the walls, layers of grit and debris covered the floors, and sections of the ceiling had collapsed under the weight of water damage. There was trash everywhere, mostly old beer bottles and magazines. Almira made a gagging sound and pulled her shirt collar up over her nose. “Criminy it stinks to high heaven in here.” “Smells like death,” Wilkie said, swatting away a cloud of gnats. “Seriously, Jo, how can you stand it?” Jo shrugged. “I grew up on a farm. I woke up to pig farts and manure every morning. I’m no stranger to bad smells. It’s a tragedy, really,” she went on narrating, and scanning the lobby with her camcorder, “to think that more than fifty years ago this place had been filled with kids our own age, sprinting to class, laughing with friends, and cramming for last-minute tests.” “Now look at it,” said Wilkie. The flash from her camera lit up the room as she took shots of the decay. “It’s like a tomb of forgotten memories.” Almira pointed down one of the long corridors. “I think the classrooms are over here. Why don’t we start there?” The first room was small. Two large, grimy windows looked out towards the road, and a few desks were still scattered about. Tacked to the rear wall was half of a world map, yellow and faded. A chalkboard, now painted over with graffiti, hung at the front of the classroom. “Stupid vandals,” mumbled Wilkie. She snapped a photo of the chalkboard, then of the desks at various angles. “I don’t understand it.” “I don’t want to understand it,” Almira said, stooping to pick up a tattered book sprawled open at her feet. She shook the dirt from the pages and turned it over in her hands. The front cover was missing. “What is that?” Jo asked, peeping over Almira's shoulder. She zoomed in on it as Almira thumbed through the pages. “Looks like a script for Beowulf,” she said. She turned to the back flap. A name was scrawled in faded pencil. “Wendy Cole,” said Jo, reading the name out loud. “Huh. I wonder what part she played.” “Beats me.” Almira tossed the book aside. “Let’s check out the rest of this place.” They wandered from room to room, their imaginations allowing them to see beyond the disrepair. At times they fancied they heard the simple commotions of the past: chairs scraping across polished tiles. The flutter of paper after the final bell. Laughter resounding in the halls. A locker door banging shut. Wilkie stopped abruptly in the corridor and looked over her shoulder. No, she was just imagining things, she thought, wiping a hand across her damp brow. That happened sometimes in old buildings. There was always the unexplained tapping on a pipe, or some shadowy thing turning swiftly round a dark corner—it was only too natural in a place like this. Still, it made one’s hair stand up on end. “Hey, Wilks!” Wilkie started. Jo was hanging halfway out of a door down the hall. “Come check this out.” Wilkie adjusted the camera strap on her shoulder and joined Jo and Almira in what appeared to be the remains of a library. “Found this yearbook when I kicked aside a pile of plaster,” Almira said. She held an age-worn, hardbound book up in both hands. Tippecanoe High School Yearbook, 1962. ''Home of the Bobcats'' Almira opened the book to a collage of black-and-white photos. In one photo, five girls dressed in waist-high, tapered slacks and knitted tops formed a human pyramid outside in the snow. Another photo showed the smiling faces of the homecoming king and queen. She continued to turn the pages until at last she came to the portraits. “These are just the freshmen,” said Jo. “Keep flipping until you get to the seniors. Maybe there’s a memorial page or something.” When they reached the last page of the yearbook, Jo cried out and pointed. Printed at the top of the page in bold, cursive font, and gilded in a garland of stenciled daisies were the words, In Memoriam. Beneath that, three photos. “These must be the missing seniors,” Wilkie observed. “Carol Thompson, Betty Cook and Elmer Douglas.” At that same moment, the library door banged shut. “Hey, now!” cried Almira, dropping the book. “She went to the door and tugged on the handle. “We’re locked in! I think someone locked us in!” Wilkie made a face. “I don’t remember seeing anyone when we arrived.” “Maybe they came after us,” said Jo. “Or parked somewhere else in order to avoid drawing attention. They probably locked us in on purpose. They could be doing something they don’t want us to see.” “Well they have no right keeping us prisoner in here like this,” Wilkie said angrily. She grabbed the handle again and yanked it hard several times. This time, the door flew wide open. To their amazement, the debris of years had been swept away, as if by the touch of a magic wand. Gone were the collapsed ceilings and graffiti. Gone were the shadows of dark, vacant corners, scattered away under the bright glow of light fixtures overhead. The white tiles gleamed anew. The walls were free of grime and mold. “Wh-what happened here?” Wilkie uttered, when they stumbled out into the corridor. “Where the heck are we?” Suspended from the ceiling above a banister was a yellow banner, and upon it read THS SENIOR PROM, 1962. Jo’s eyes bulged. “I don’t believe this,” she uttered, fumbling with the buttons on her camcorder. “I don’t believe this.” Just then two boys rounded the corner. Both were dressed in white jackets, black bowties and pants. Their hair was styled in the crew cut fashion. As they approached, Wilkie advanced to meet them. “Excuse me,” she said. The boy on the right stopped suddenly. “Can you please tell us where we are?” But he wasn’t looking at her, she realized. He was looking beyond her, at someone emerging from the library. He extended his arm to them. “Betty, you look positively stunning!” he exclaimed, his mouth broadening into a white grin, like something out of a vintage toothpaste ad. Betty appeared, dressed in baby blue satin heels, and a matching dress that fell in ruffles at her ankles. White gloves stretched past her elbows, and her nut-brown hair bobbed on her shoulders. She blushed and took his arm. “Thank you, Elmer.” “Hey, wait!” Wilkie yelled when they started walking away. She reached out to grab Betty’s shoulder, but her hand passed right through her. Wilkie blinked and stared after them until they descended the staircase and passed out of sight. “Did you see that?” she shrieked, spinning around and looking aghast at Jo and Almira. “Did you see what just happened?” Almira frowned. “Elmer? Betty? Weren’t those two of the names from the yearbook?” She glanced around for the book, but it was nowhere in sight. “This is too weird. I don’t like it,” Wilkie said. Almira agreed. “I have a bad feeling we might’ve inhaled too much toxic mold. I’ve heard that it can cause hallucinations. We must be hallucinating. If that’s the case, we better—” A chatty group of students interrupted her. Their high-pitched laughter mingled with excited voices, the rustle of chiffon, the clap of high heels upon polished floors, the draft of perfumed air that fluttered around them as they sashayed by were as real to Jo, Wilkie and Almira as their own existence. Yet, they themselves didn’t seem to exist to those ghostly actors. Jo turned eagerly to her friends. “Let’s follow them.” “No way,” protested Almira. “If we’re loopy from the mold and follow our hallucinations, we could put ourselves at serious risk. We need to leave the building.” Jo impatiently rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Alm, if that were the case, do you really think the three of us would be experiencing the same hallucinations?” “How should I know? I still have a bad feeling about the whole thing.” “What if,” Jo pressed on, “what if we stumbled into something supernatural? What if we’re meant to solve a crime? What if the spirits of the three missing students are trying to tell us something?” Almira shifted uneasily on her feet and looked over at Wilkie, who, after some consideration, said, “The first sign of trouble, Jo, I’m out of here. I mean it. I’m leaving, with or without you guys.” *** THE stairs brought them to the gymnasium, which had been spruced up with all the bright festivities of the event. Red and pink streamers, accompanied by strands of little twinkling, yellow lights, trimmed the rafters of the ceiling. Balloons and silver confetti were swept around like autumn leaves as couples waltzed across the floor. Off to the far right where a stage had been erected, a live band performed something by James Brown. “Incredible,” murmured Wilkie, snapping a photo. “Don’t even bother,” Almira said. “If we’re hallucinating, no camera will be able to capture the deceit of our minds. It’ll show it for what it really is: a dumpy old building.” The sound of a voice close by made them suddenly look up. They saw Betty Cook standing alone, waving at a stout girl with blonde, bouffant hair and thick lashes. The girl dashed over, and they at once recognized Carol Thompson from the yearbook. “Where’ve you been?” Betty asked Carol. “And where’s Wendy? Are we still going through with it or not? It was her idea, after all.” “I just saw her with Pete near the stage.” Betty’s eyes opened wide. “Not Creepy Pete from out of town?” she exclaimed. Carol scowled and quickly glanced around. “Jeepers, Betty, lower your voice, will ya? What if he was near? You know she’s been going with Pete for a couple months now. He’s not that bad. He’s just... different.” “He’s awful weird, that’s what. He gives me the heebie-jeebies. There’s always something ominous written in that grim face of his, too. I feel like I’m at a funeral whenever he’s around, he’s always so pale.” “At any rate,” said Carol, ignoring this caricature of Pete, “he’ll be helping us out tonight. He brought the cans of paint.” Betty sniffed. “In that case, I suppose he’s good for something.” “Just think of Principal Parish’s face when she comes to school Monday and finds her office painted black!” The two girls broke out into giggles. “It’s a senior prank for the books,” Betty said, mischievously biting her lower lip. “You checked her door, haven’t you?” Carol asked. Betty nodded. “As good as open. She never locks it, you know.” Elmer suddenly sprang from the throng of dancers and threw his arms around Betty’s waist. She squealed with surprise as he lifted her up off the floor and swung her around. “Egad, Elmer!” she giggled, kicking her heels. “Put me down! Where’d you run off to anyhow? We have work to do. Creepy Pete’s here with the paint.” Elmer set her on her feet again. “Is that so?” At that moment, a man’s voice belted into a microphone. “Do you know what time it is?” he shouted. Elmer stirred excitedly and caught both of Betty’s hands. “After this dance,” he pleaded. “Iiiiiiit’s twisting time!” The entire room erupted into cheers as the band struck up that old familiar tune. “Oh, alright, just this one dance, then we have to go.” Elmer pulled her through the crowd, with Carol slipping off after them. “Come on, let’s not lose sight of them,” Jo said. While Betty and Elmer danced, they found Carol sitting on the bleachers talking to someone. “That’s Wendy,” said Jo, recognizing the face from the yearbook. Almira gagged. “Ugh. And there’s that revolting smell again.” “I smell it too,” Wilkie choked. “What is that?” Jo made a face. “There’s definitely a dead animal in here somewhere. Hey, look, that must be Pete. He sure does look like a ghastly thing, doesn’t he?” Pete was standing apart from Wendy and Carol. There was almost something impatient and eager in the way he transfixed his gaze on them. “Pete left the paint in the furnace room,” they heard Wendy tell Carol. Carol looked annoyed. “Now how on earth are we going to carry the canisters out of there without bringing attention to ourselves?” It was Pete who answered. His voice was low and monotone. “I saw another door in the furnace room that opened out near the front entrance of the school. We can get to your principal’s office through there.” “Actually, why don’t you go there now, and wait for us? I think we’re all set,” Wendy said to Pete with a meaningful look. “If we all go at once, it’ll look obvious that we’re up to no good.” The corner of Pete’s mouth curled into a smile. In that next instant, he strode from the crowd and made his way to a small door behind the bleachers. He opened it, and without glancing back, disappeared beyond the threshold. “Follow me in about five minutes,” Wendy whispered to Carol. “And tell Betty and Elmer to hurry along!” She then hugged her knees and laughed. “Tonight’s gag is going to be positively delicious!” She then bounded away after Pete. Five minutes later, Carol, Betty and Elmer followed suit. Jo turned to her friends and implored them with a look. Both knew what she was thinking. “Nuh-uh, this is where I draw the line,” Almira said, holding up both hands. “Sorry, Jo,” Wilkie added. “Nothing good ever happens in furnace rooms in the movies.” Jo pursed her lips and looked down at her feet. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “you guys wait here, and I’ll go take a little peek. I have to know what happens next. If I’m not back in ten minutes, get help.” Before her friends could even protest, Jo went briskly off in pursuit of the pranksters. “Oh, for crying out loud,” growled Almira, who immediately tripped off after Jo. Suddenly she stopped and looked back at Wilkie. “Well, you coming or what?” Wilkie rolled her head back on her shoulders and groaned. “I have a very bad feeling about this,” she said. *** “JO, you down here?” Almira called as they descended the stairs. “Good God, the smell is a hundred times worse down here.” “Like walking straight into the devil’s butthole,” Wilkie agreed. She held both hands over her mouth and nose, and swallowed back the lump of sickness that formed in her throat. “Jo, where are you?” Almira called again. “Over here,” a voice answered. They were standing in a damp, dim room, with concrete walls and floors. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling and cast a strange orb of yellow light all around. “Did you find anything interesting?” Almira asked, her eyes searching for Jo. “Where are you? I don’t see you.” Just then, something stirred from a dark corner and stepped into the light. It was Wendy Cole. “I didn’t think you two freaks would come,” she said, looking right at them. Pete appeared alongside her. “I was almost doubtful of it myself, too.” Wilkie started, and looked from one to the other. “Wait, you can see us?” “See you, hear you, s-s-smell you,” hissed Wendy. “I don’t understand,” said Almira, her voice shaking. “Wh-what’s going on? Where’s Jo?” At that moment, Pete emitted a resounding, rancid belch. Something flew from his mouth and fell at their feet. It was a camcorder. They glanced up in horror at Pete, who picked his teeth with satisfaction. “She was nice and easy on the gullet, I dare say.” “We’re still hallucinating, right Alm?” muttered Wilkie, her face ashen with fear. “This isn’t—this isn’t real, is it? This can’t be real.” Wendy snuffed the air hungrily. “Who-oo shall it be-ee?” she said, tapping her finger to her chin. “They both look scrumptious, though I would have much rather preferred the other one." Here she looked askance at Pete. "She had a skin I rather liked, and I’m bored of the one I’m wearing. Why, I’ve had it for more than a century, you know.” “Speaking of which,” said Pete, “let’s remove these awful things. I’m feeling a bit cramped in here.” “Very well. Off with our skins!” Wendy announced. “Off with our skins!” Pete echoed. Almira and Wilkie watched in perfect horror as the pair gingerly peeled off their skins, after which two hideous fiends were revealed to them, with scraps of flesh stretched tightly over crooked limbs, and a head full of sprawling antlers and snapping, little fangs. “Muuuuch better,” hissed the fiend that had been Wendy Cole. She arched her back so that every vertebra in her spine protruded through the flesh. Suddenly, she turned her filmy eyes on Almira and licked her teeth. “Yes, it’s all just a hallucination, Wilkie,” Almira muttered, as the monsters limped towards them. Category:Monsters Category:Places Category:Disappearances